Hiding Places
by kbrand5333
Summary: Arthur and Guinevere repeatedly encounter one another in strange locations. AU.
1. Chapter 1

11/10

The first time they encounter one another, it's under a bed. His bed. He is hiding, she is sweeping. He is eleven. She is ten.

He is Prince Arthur, sole heir of King Uther Pendragon of Camelot.

She is Guinevere, only daughter of Tom the Blacksmith and maidservant to the King's ward, 12-year-old Lady Morgana.

Gwen hums as she sweeps the prince's rooms, paying no mind to the fact that his quarters are larger than the house she shares with her father and brother.

She's been Morgana's maid for six months now, and has proven herself to be a hard-working and trustworthy girl, keeping busy with general tasks when her mistress does not require her services.

General tasks like sweeping the prince's rooms, for example. He doesn't have his own manservant yet.

_I pity whoever eventually gets that unlucky job,_ Gwen thinks, and immediately feels guilty for it. She only knows the prince through second-hand accounts from Morgana. And while Morgana rarely has nice things to say, Gwen feels disloyal for thinking ill of her future king.

Certainly she's seen him, there's no avoiding that. She's served at dinners where he's been in attendance. But she's never encountered him personally.

She makes her way to the prince's sleeping chamber, where she sets her broom aside for a moment to better draw the curtains back.

_Who did this?_ she thinks, frowning as she adjusts the curtains. _It looks like it was just torn open by a careless child, honestly._ She picks up her broom and looks at the drapes. "Better," she declares softly.

She sweeps the area around the large bed, a bed that is larger than the bed she shares with her brother. It's larger than their bed plus their father's bed combined, in fact.

But he's the prince. That's how things are. Ever thorough, she reaches beneath the bed with the broom, and—

"Hey!"

Guinevere jumps back, her broom clattering to the floor.

_There's someone under the bed._

Slowly, she crouches down and peeks. "Oh!" she exclaims softly. "Forgive me, my lord, I was just—"

"Shh," he shushes her.

"My lord?" she whispers.

"I'm hiding."

She looks at him then. _Really_ looks. He doesn't look happy at all. He's pouting, and doing a grand job of it.

"Why are you hiding?" she asks. Her knees are aching, and she unthinkingly slides them out from beneath her until she is lying on the floor on her stomach, peering at the prince who is pouting under his bed with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm hiding from Father. Honestly, who else would I hide from?" he huffs.

"But why?" she asks again. "My lord," she adds.

He finally looks at her. He's seen her around. _She's kind of new. Morgana's maid, that's who she is._

Her wide brown eyes seem to see right through him, and he notices that there is a dark curl escaped from one of her braids that brushes her skin.

"He wants to punish—"

The sound of his door opening stops his words.

"Arthur?" King Uther's voice booms throughout the seemingly-empty bedchamber. His footsteps grow closer.

Guinevere's eyes widen. _I'm lying on the floor!_

"Arthur, stop behaving like a child…" The king's footsteps stop as he opens a wardrobe, looking for Arthur.

Then they resume, marching closer. Gwen looks at Arthur, panicked.

"Arthur…" Uther sighs, exasperated. He's getting closer.

Arthur quickly turns, reaches out, and grabs Guinevere, hauling her under the bed with him, his hand over her mouth to muffle any surprised sounds she might make.

Gwen recovers from her surprise fairly quickly, but her heart continues to pound. Her eyes seem glued to his as he silently implores her to stay quiet, to not give away his hiding place. _Their_ hiding place, now.

"Arthur, this is ridiculous," the king's measured tones call out. He's getting closer.

Gwen reaches up and slowly peels Arthur's hand away from her mouth. Something in her eyes tells him that she won't give him away. He moves his hand from her mouth, but the other one stays locked around her waist, still holding her slender body flush against his.

Then her eyes widen. _Broom!_ She mouths at him, and he turns his head to see her broom lying discarded on the floor.

He opens his mouth in a silent _umm_, but they are saved by another voice.

"Sire?"

"What _is_ it, Sir Kay?"

"The council is waiting for you, my lord." Sir Kay's calm voice drifts to them from the doorway of Arthur's chambers.

"Very well. Oh, hello… Leon, is it? Sir Kay, your boy is getting tall," Uther says, his voice retreating.

"Thank you, Sire," young Leon's voice answers. "Sire, have you seen Prince Arthur?"

"No, I haven't." The king's voice is curt. "And if you see him, he is to go to the stables and help the servants clean. He is being punished."

"Oh…" Leon says.

Gwen knows Leon. Her mother was a maid in his family's home until she passed away, just a year ago. She knows Leon quite well, and she knows that he is as transparent as they come and cannot tell a lie to save his life.

"Leon, what do you know about this?" Sir Kay's voice asks. "Should I be sending you to the stables as well?"

"Yes, sir," Leon's voice is soft. Guinevere looks up at Arthur. He looks away guiltily.

"Well, then, get to it. If you see the prince, take him with you," Sir Kay orders.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Sorry, Sire."

"Thank you for your honesty, young man. You will make a fine knight one day. But next time do think about the consequences of your actions before you and my son decide to tie a bunch of bed linens together and tie one end to a pig."

Arthur risks a peek at Guinevere. She's giving him a look that clearly says _That was you?_

"Yes, Sire, I will."

They hear Leon's footsteps retreat quickly down the corridor.

"He is a good boy, my lord," Sir Kay comments.

"Yes, I know. So is Arthur. But they _are_ boys…" Uther's voice drifts off as he leaves for the council meeting.

"It took us hours to clean those sheets again," Gwen says, squirming out of Arthur's grasp and scrambling out from under the bed, brushing furiously at her skirts. Her body feels cold now after having been pressed against the prince's warmth.

The prince slides out from beneath the bed. Now his clothes are dusty and he feels doubly guilty for his behavior. His best friend is being punished for something that was _his_ idea while he was hiding like a coward.

And now this pretty maid is angry with him as well. _Why do I care what she thinks? She's just a maid._ He tries to shrug it off, but can't. She's returned to her sweeping, her back facing him in a rather pointed manner.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"Guinevere, my lord. But everyone calls me Gwen," she says, glancing over her shoulder at him.

_She thinks I'm a coward for not owning up to what I did._ Again, he doesn't understand why that bothers him.

"Thank you for not giving me away, Guinevere," he says. He finds he likes her name. _Gwen isn't right. She's definitely Guinevere._

"You should thank Sir Kay," she says. "It would have been ten times worse if your father had seen my broom on the floor." _I would have been fired without a second thought,_ she realizes.

"Um…" Arthur says, feeling awkward. He knows how it would have looked if Uther had looked under the bed and found him holding Morgana's maid in his arms, regardless of the fact that it was completely innocent. "I should go…"

"You probably should," she says softly, pointedly _not _saying _you had better go to the stables._

Suddenly he's right beside her. "I'm sorry, Guinevere," he whispers, kisses her cheek, and disappears.

Gwen stands, still as a statue, her hand on her cheek long after the prince has disappeared.

Hours later, Gwen is carrying a load of Morgana's laundry to her chambers, and she sees Prince Arthur walking towards his room.

He is filthy and there are bits of straw stuck in his hair and clothes.

As he passes her, he catches her eye for the most fleeting of moments, and he thinks he sees her smile.


	2. Chapter 2

13/12

Two years later, she discovers him in a wardrobe. Morgana's wardrobe, to be exact. Gwen is walking into her mistress' chambers with two clean dresses draped carefully over her arm, humming quietly to herself.

She walks over to the wardrobe on the far wall, her mind on the simple dress she's sewing for herself at home. It's her most ambitious effort thus far, but it pales in comparison to the fine garments that Morgana wears.

Still, Morgana's beautiful clothes inspire Gwen when she sews. One day she hopes to be a fine seamstress, maybe fine enough to craft dresses for Morgana herself.

She reaches for the handle and pulls the doors open.

"Aah!—oh," Prince Arthur starts out fiercely, but fizzles quickly. He actually appears to deflate.

Nevertheless, Gwen jumps, squeaks a surprised yelp, and almost drops Morgana's dresses.

"Sorry," he apologizes immediately, almost as surprised as she. He regains his composure and cocks his head at her, remembering. "Guinevere, is it?"

"Yes, my lord," she answers, her voice a little breathy. Her knee bends automatically in a small curtsey as she answers. "May I ask…?" she starts, but stops herself. _It's not my business why he's in Morgana's wardrobe._

"I was planning to scare Morgana," he admits, answering her abandoned question. He doesn't even seem to be annoyed that she asked. Almost asked.

"Oh," she says. "Why?"

He shrugs. "Because it's fun."

Gwen doesn't know what to say to that. Sure, Elyan can be mischievous, but he's never attempted to actually_ scare_ her. "Oh. May I hang these dresses up, my lord?"

A little puzzled at her lack of response, he nevertheless hands her a hanger, watching as she quickly and efficiently hangs the first dress, then hands her the hanger for the second.

_She's trying not to look at me._ "You think me foolish," he says suddenly. _Why am I still in here?_

"My opinion is of no importance, my lord. It is none of my business what you do," she answers carefully.

"No, it's not," he agrees. "But indulge me."

She regards him carefully for a moment. _He's grown. Taller, more masculine, less of a boy. His voice is deeper. His blue eyes are curious and keen, but there is uncertainty lurking behind them._ "Morgana complains about you a lot," she says quietly, a little reluctantly. "My lord," she adds, remembering herself.

"She does?"

"I shouldn't have said…" she says, turning away. He stops her with a feather-light touch on her elbow.

"Guinevere," he says quietly, and she turns back. _Why does she look upset?_

"You should be kinder to Lady Morgana. You're almost like a brother to her. You should treat her with more kindness instead of…" she stops again, biting her lip, anxious now that her mouth has run away from her. _I cannot call the prince a prat._

"Of…?" he asks, his expression clouding.

Gwen closes her eyes. "Lady Morgana calls you a prat." She whispers it.

He says nothing for a long moment, long enough to make Gwen peek at him with one eye to make sure he's still there.

"She probably does," he finally says, his expression changing to a thoughtful scowl.

"I just… think that people should treasure their loved ones," she says, her voice almost a whisper. "Because you never know when they might not be there anymore."

Arthur had heard that the reason Guinevere came to work at the castle was because her mother had died and they needed the extra income. Her father is the town's best blacksmith, but apparently he wasn't able to earn enough to look after himself, Guinevere and… was it a brother or a sister?

"Guinev—" he starts again. Then Morgana's voice, calling to someone in the distance from the other side of the doors, cuts him off.

Arthur's eyes suddenly grow wide. _This isn't such a good idea anymore._ He casts a panicked and slightly desperate look towards Gwen.

She leaps into the wardrobe with him, closing the door behind her.

"What are…?"

"Shh. She won't look in here. She never comes in here; I'm the only person that does," Gwen whispers.

It's close quarters inside the wardrobe. They are able to stand, but Gwen is pressed against his chest because of all the dresses.

"So you're saying that I chose my hiding place poorly?" he asks.

She looks up and is quite surprised to see that he is smiling. Grinning, even.

They hear Morgana enter the room. "Gwen? Guinevere? Where _is_ that girl?" she huffs.

Gwen bites her lip, worried that Morgana thinks she's shirking her duties.

"Is she gone?" Arthur whispers, just a breath, only audible to Gwen because she's so close.

"No matter," they hear Morgana's voice again, followed by the scrape of a chair on the floor.

"Vanity," Gwen whispers.

Arthur nods, her warm breath against his neck a surprising distraction. There is a small shard of light peeking through the crack in the wardrobe doors, and Arthur can see Gwen still looks troubled.

"Are you all right?" he asks. The question surprises even him.

She nods, but he doesn't believe her.

Outside the wardrobe, they can make out the sounds of Morgana puttering and fussing at her vanity.

"I'll… try to be nicer to Morgana," he says. _Will I? I suppose I can try…_

"My brother is gone," she whispers suddenly, bringing Arthur's attention fully back to her. "He's just a boy, younger than me…"

"Gone?" he whispers, a little louder. Gwen's hand flies up to his lips, reminding him to be quiet.

Morgana's chamber has gone silent as well, almost as if she's stopped what she was doing because she heard something.

"Gone?" Arthur repeats, his voice a bare whisper once again. "Gone how?"

She sighs, and her shoulders are a little shaky. "I think he ran away," she says, and her voice is a little shaky.

"Why would he do that?" he asks. He knows the blacksmith to be a kind man, and Guinevere normally seems happy enough. _What would he have to run from, I wonder? I dream of running away sometimes, but that's because I'm afraid of being king._

"I don't know. He's been hanging around with these… unsavory boys… older ones… giving him ideas that he has no business having…" She sniffles quietly, and Arthur discovers that she's crying.

Before he realizes what he's doing, his arms come up around her back, holding her. Comforting her.

She sags unthinkingly against him, her head against his chest.

Neither of them notices that Morgana has left her chambers.

Arthur doesn't know what to do except hold her and let her cry. His young age and standoffish upbringing haven't prepared him for comforting a young girl who is frightened for her brother.

"He'll come home," he says, his one hand lightly patting her back, attempting to be consoling.

"I don't know…" she says, "why would he?"

"Because it's his home. He'll get hungry, or… miss you and your father," he says. His fingers brush against her hair just a bit. The feeling intrigues him, but he dare not attempt to touch her hair again, not purposefully.

"I hope so, but…" she sighs, sniffling. "I just don't know. He's told me that he doesn't really want to be a blacksmith…"

"Surely he doesn't _have_ to be a…" Arthur says, but then trails off, realizing the absurdity of his statement. Guinevere's brother is destined to be a blacksmith like his father just as Arthur is destined to be king like _his_ father. _I guess we aren't so different after all._

She looks up at him, her large brown eyes watery and sad. "Thank you for trying to make me feel better, my lord," she says.

"You're welcome, Guinevere," he says.

Maybe it's the close proximity. Maybe it's her raw emotions. But when the prince speaks her full name, softly, in a whispered breath like that, it makes her stomach do a strange flip that she's never experienced before.

Arthur considers wiping the tears from her cheeks, but his arms seem to have forgotten how to move. Instead he studies her upturned face: her uniquely shaped, golden brown eyes, her straight nose with its interesting smattering of freckles, her intriguingly full lips.

"My lord?" she asks, catching him staring.

His eyes snap from her lips to her eyes again. "Sorry," he apologizes.

"I think Morgana's gone," she says, trying to move, to peek through the crack in the doors. He drops his arms.

"I don't see her." She pauses. "I don't hear her," she adds, slowly pushing the door open.

Arthur holds his breath.

"She's gone," she says, stepping out.

Arthur doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He does know that his arms feel strange. Empty.

"So…" he says, watching as she straightens Morgana's vanity again, ever mindful of her duties, even though no one has asked her to do them.

She steals a moment and glances at herself in the mirror, wiping her eyes and patting her hair. Attempting to appear as though she wasn't crying.

_She looks fine… pretty…_ Arthur thinks. _Should I tell her? Or would she find it troubling? Inappropriate?_

"I'll check outside and make sure no one is around so you can escape," she says suddenly, pulling herself together, drawing on some inner strength that she has yet to fully realize.

"Oh. Right," he says, following her to the door. He waits while she opens the door and looks around.

"All right," she says, stepping aside so he can pass.

"Thank you for not giving me away," he says, pausing next to her.

"You're welcome, my lord. And thank you for… listening to me," she says. _For trying to make me feel better, even though you didn't know how. For holding me even though you really didn't know why._

On impulse, she lifts up on tiptoe and quickly kisses his cheek, just as he did to her two years ago. Then she dashes back into Morgana's rooms to continue straightening up.

Arthur glances over his shoulder at her, wondering what more she could possibly find to tidy up. Everything appears to be immaculate.

When she glances over at the doors again, he's gone. The door is open, but she leaves it that way. She's certainly allowed to be in her mistress' chambers alone.

As he slowly walks through the corridor, Prince Arthur's arms feel a strange emptiness. They feel almost heavy. And cold. Like something is missing. But while he doesn't fully understand this, he is certain of the one thought playing through his mind.

_I wish she would call me Arthur._


	3. Chapter 3

15/14

It's another two years before their paths cross again in this unexpected way.

Since their encounter in the wardrobe, Prince Arthur realizes he has not only become… aware of young ladies, but there is one particular young lady of whom he is very aware.

A particular young lady of whom his father would never approve on the grounds that she is not, in fact, a Lady.

He steals glances at her at dinner. She feels her cheeks warm when they pass one another in the corridor.

He dreams of her occasionally. The dreams confuse but also excite him. She finds her thoughts drifting to him, to his growing height, his broadening shoulders, and she has to shake her head to clear them away lest she gets caught shirking her duties.

Today, King Uther is holding a tournament to celebrate the Summer Solstice.

"Oh dear!" Lady Morgana exclaims, looking down through the slats beneath her feet. "I dropped the favor I was saving for the winner…" she laments. Now aged 16, this will be her first opportunity to grant her favor to the victor.

"I'll go fetch it, my lady," Guinevere says, hurrying from the royal box.

"Thank you, Gwen," she says, her eyes still on the field.

"Morgana, it isn't necessary to thank the servants," Uther says with a heavy sigh as Gwen exits. "It's their job to serve, and…" His voice is swallowed up by the crowd as she makes her way through, nodding politely to familiar faces as she goes. She is thankful to miss the rest of his lecture about how servants aren't really _people_ and therefore do not deserve common courtesy.

Luckily she knows her mistress doesn't really listen to or agree with her guardian and king on this issue.

She stops her traitorous thoughts about King Uther before they form, stepping off of the lowest step of the stands and walking around to the back where she can access their undersides.

It's a mess beneath the stands. Discarded bones and dropped banners litter the ground. Here and there an errant weed pokes up from the rocky dirt. There are some larger rocks jutting out here and there.

On one of these large rocks, the largest one by far, sits Prince Arthur of Camelot. Sulking.

Gwen lifts the bottom of her skirts and picks her way over to him, her eyes trained on the ground for the pale yellow silk handkerchief – likely soiled now – as she goes.

"My lord?" she calls softly.

Surprised, his head turns sharply in her direction. He recognized her voice immediately, but is surprised she's here. Under the stands. In the dirt.

Like a flower.

"Guinevere," he says, smiling weakly.

"What are you doing under here?" she asks. She'd been wondering where he was. Leon is squiring for Sir Lamorak and there are other knights-in-training that she knows to be Arthur's age acting as squires as well, but she hadn't been able to spot Arthur's golden head among them.

"Feeling sorry for myself, obviously," he says. She's right beside him now.

She pauses a moment. "Does this have something to do with the fact that you're not squiring for anyone today?" she asks softly, carefully.

He sighs and kicks the dirt. "Yes," he admits. _She's probably the only person to whom I would admit this._ He scoots over on the large, flat rock, and pats the space beside him.

"I'm looking for Morgana's handkerchief," she says, hesitating.

He holds it aloft for her. It's completely spotless.

"It landed on my head," he says, smiling a half-smile.

"Thank you," she says, taking it and tucking it into her apron.

He pats the spot on the rock again.

"I should go," she says.

"You defy your prince?" he asks. His tone is light and there is a small smile on his face; she knows he is not being serious.

Nevertheless, she sits. The rock is large, but it is just big enough for the two slender teenagers to sit side by side. Her hip is touching his, and they are both very aware of the contact.

Especially since her hips now have the roundness of womanhood to them.

"Father forbade me from squiring today," he says suddenly, picking at the edge of his sleeve.

She wants to stop his fingers, wants to tell him that he'll fray the seam and then someone – likely herself – will have to fix it.

"Oh?" she asks. Asking why without asking why.

"I'm being punished."

"Again?" It's out before she can stop it. "Sorry, I shouldn't—"

His laughter stops her hasty apology. "There's more room under here than there is under my bed," he says. "Especially now that I'm grown."

She smiles shyly and looks down at her lap. _He remembers._

"I… was a… a prat. At training this week," he says, his voice soft. Ashamed. Admitting his failings to the only person he knows he can. The only person he knows won't poke fun or judge.

However, she's also the only person whose opinion matters to him. And he's afraid she will be disappointed in his behavior.

Guinevere listens, waiting patiently for him to unfold the rest of the story.

"Leon and I were sparring. He beat me. For the first time ever, he beat me. Fair and square. He found his advantage, and he took it." He kicks at the dirt again. "And instead of congratulating him for his victory, I… stomped off in a huff. Like a… clotpole."

"Clotpole?" she asks, wrinkling her brow.

"Merlin's word. You've met Merlin, right?" he asks. Merlin, his new manservant, a strange stork of a boy. Slightly inept at times, but a good bloke.

"Oh, yes. He's very nice. Friendly," she says, smiling as she thinks of her newest friend. His face clouds slightly. _What did I say?_ "A bit strange sometimes, though," she adds, not really sure why she feels she should. But his face clears, and he chuckles.

"You could say that," he smirks.

"Where is Merlin, anyway?"

"Doing my laundry," he says, frowning. "I think."

She nods, and he continues.

"Anyway, Sir Lamorak reported my Behavior Unbecoming a Knight of Camelot to Father, and he decided the best punishment was to forbid me from squiring for Sir Kay today. I'm not even supposed to be down here; I'm supposed to be in my room."

"I'm sorry," she says. He's still picking at his sleeves, and on impulse she closes her fingers over his, stilling them.

His eyes flash to hers, and she removes her hand. He catches it and takes it back, holding it.

"You'll fray the hem," she whispers.

"Is that why you did it?" he whispers back.

She looks up at him, into the storm-cloud blue of his eyes. "Partly," she admits, unable to stop the word. She drops her eyes again, unable to hold his gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a shy smile cross his face.

"As much as I hate to admit it, he was right to punish me," he says, looking at their hands, at the tawny brown of her skin against the golden pink of his. "I know better. I can't act like that. I'm going to be king. I'm 15 years old now, a… a man. Well, nearly. I need to start acting like it. Having a… tantrum because I didn't win… not being able to be happy for my best friend because I'm too busy being mad… that's not the behavior of a man who will make a good king. That's the behavior of a spoiled child."

"Sounds to me like you are on the correct path, my lord," she says.

"Arthur," he corrects. "Please. Call me Arthur." _I want to hear my name on her lips._

"I couldn't. I shouldn't."

"There's no one around," he says. "Don't make me order you," he teases lightly, nudging her shoulder with his. "I'd… prefer it if you called me Arthur."

"When no one else is around," she agrees. Sort of.

"Fair enough," he allows. _Better than nothing. I wouldn't want her to get in trouble._ "You were saying?"

"Um," she says, gathering her thoughts. "It sounds like you are on the right path…"

_Say it, please._

"…Arthur," she finishes. His smile makes her heart beat faster, harder, as if it has just woken up from a long sleep to find it is spring and the flowers are blooming and the skies are blue and sunny. "You…" she collects her thoughts again, "you know your behavior was, um, incorrect. You made a mistake. You know it was wrong, and you know you won't do it again. We all make mistakes. What's important is that we learn from them. It sounds like you have."

She grants him a small smile, then drops her gaze to her lap again.

"Thank you, Guinevere," he says.

Her stomach does a small flip at the sound of her name. _Has he always said it so?_

"You're welcome," she whispers.

They sit quietly for a minute, their conversation interrupted by cheers from the crowd above them. He continues to hold her hand, occasionally stroking the back of it with his thumb in an absentminded fashion.

She is startlingly aware of each time he does it.

"How old are you? Do you know?" Arthur asks suddenly, angling his head at her. It's not a strange question; many commoners do not know their ages or mark their birthdays.

"I think 14. My father marks each birthday on the wall of his forge. There are 14 marks now," she says.

"So he knows when your birthday is, then?" Arthur asks.

She looks at her lap. "Father says the day I was born, the lilacs bloomed. So whenever the first lilac blooms, he marks the wall. Sometimes, if there's coin enough, he gets a sweet honey cake for me from the baker."

"That's very nice," he says. "Which ones are lilacs?"

She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. "They're purple and they grow on large bushes. There's one just outside the castle gates."

"Oh, those," he says, seeming to understand. She's not completely convinced he knows what she's talking about, but he's at least humoring her. "Those… clustery ones. They smell good. Sweet," he adds, and she knows then that he _does_ understand. Their scent is unavoidable when the wind is right.

"I should get back to Lady Morgana. I've been gone too long and she's probably looking for me," she says, but she doesn't move.

"Does she have any more of those handkerchiefs?" Arthur asks.

"Of course. Many."

"Tell her the one she dropped got soiled, so you went and fetched a clean one. She'll never know," he says, shrugging.

"I've never lied to her before," Guinevere says.

"You'd rather tell her the truth, that you were down here holding my hand and talking about flowers?" He raises an eyebrow at her.

"True, but… I think I'll just tell her I've been detained."

"All right. Just… don't mention it was me that detained you. Supposed to be in my room, you know," he adds.

"I won't give you away," she says, looking down again.

"Thank you."

Guinevere reaches into the pocket of her apron with her free hand, an impulse hitting her. She acts on it before she can chicken out. "Um, Arthur…"

He looks at her, wondering what she is going to say. She's got something in her hand.

"When you do become a knight… um, would you…" she holds up a handkerchief of her own, a plain, white linen square of cloth. It's spotlessly clean, but she thinks it looks like a rag in comparison to the fine silk of Morgana's favor. "For luck, I guess."

He stares down at her again, his face bearing a curious, soft expression. He stares so long that she is just about to tuck the handkerchief back into her apron, mutter some sort of embarrassed apology, and flee.

Then his hand reaches over and takes the linen gently from her hand, his eyes only leaving her face to look down at his first ever favor, given to him by a maidservant beneath the stands. "Thank you," he whispers.

"It's nothing; silly, really, I don't know why I—"

He stops her lips with a kiss that surprises both of them.

Time stands still. The sounds of the crowd, of the tournament melt away. The world is Arthur and Guinevere only, soft lips and entwined fingers.

But it ends all too soon. Arthur gently pulls away, almost reluctantly, slowly opening his eyes just in time to see her open her brown eyes and gaze back at him.

They remember to start breathing again, and Arthur knows that the mask of wonder he sees on her face – _when did she become so beautiful?_ – surely matches his own.

"I should go," she whispers, and he releases her hand. She stands and walks away from him.

As Prince Arthur watches her walk away, he knows he will forever equate lilacs with Guinevere.

Just before she exits the area beneath the stands, she turns and looks back at him, meeting his eyes with hers for just a moment, her lips forming the tiniest smile.

Then she's gone.


	4. Chapter 4

17/16

He looks for her now. Even when he thinks he isn't looking for her, he is. It's as if his mind, his body, is attuned to hers. He can sense when she is near. He feels her presence before he sees her form.

Prince Arthur has grown from a curious boy to an infatuated young man. He knows the dangers of being smitten with a serving girl. But in his mind, Guinevere is more than just a serving girl.

She's a beautiful, intelligent young woman. And his thoughts turn to her more and more, at the most unexpected times. Most often, when he's faced with some sort of challenge. Not a physical challenge, but a mental one. An emotional one. He tries to think like Guinevere, tries to think about what she would do or say. How she would counsel him.

And at night, when he sleeps, when he dreams, he often dreams of her. As he's gotten older, the dreams have matured along with him.

As a servant, Guinevere, cannot afford to be careless with her feelings. She, too, finds herself looking for Arthur, finds that she always knows when he is near, but must keep a tight lid on her emotions.

If the king discovered their mutual attraction, Arthur would be reprimanded, perhaps punished. Gwen would be dismissed in disgrace, and as a result, would find it difficult to gain employment elsewhere.

Nevertheless, when she is alone, her thoughts drift to the prince. Arthur, he has bidden her to call him. She is careful not to slack in her duties to Morgana and in the palace, but in her rare downtimes, her mind drifts.

To his eyes. They speak words to her his voice cannot find.

To his lips. The memory of them, soft and warm as they pressed against hers, leaving them tingling.

Leaving her world shifted on its axis.

His world, forever altered.

It's been two years since that afternoon. Gwen has grown as tall as she will and her body has attained the fullness of womanhood.

Arthur, too, has grown taller, has put on more muscle. He is, for all intents and purposes, a man.

Unfortunately, King Uther has failed to notice this. Arthur asks for more responsibility, to attend meetings, visit dignitaries. Each time, he is refused. His father tells him he is too young. He is not yet ready.

He argues that he wants to observe. He wants to learn. "How can I _become_ ready if I am not given opportunities?" he had asked.

Still, he is denied.

So one day, he formulates a plan. He will observe a council meeting, hidden behind the thick draperies in the council chambers.

He steals into the large room before anyone else is there, choosing a set of drapes close enough to hear what's being said but far enough away that he won't be detected.

As soon as he's settled himself, he hears someone enter the room. He exhales.

_Just in time._

He listens to the soft footfalls and gentle clinking sounds as someone fills goblets and places them at the seats. The serving girl (he knows the servant must be female; they are much quieter) starts humming softly as she works.

_Guinevere? Oh yes, Morgana will be lying down now for her afternoon rest, so Guinevere won't be attending her._

He wants to peek, to confirm his suspicion. But he already _knows_ it's her. It has to be. His heart is beating faster. He feels warmer.

The feelings he has cataloged as "normal" when she is near.

He moves to the edge of the curtain. Just as he is about to move it gently aside, it moves on its own.

Well, seemingly. He almost shouts out in surprise as Guinevere stares up at him, just as surprised as he is.

"My lord!" she exclaims softly, clutching her pitcher to her chest.

"Shh," he shushes. "I'm trying to hide."

"This is becoming a habit with you," she whispers, smirking a little.

"I—" he stops short. The doors are starting to open. He pulls Gwen behind the drapes with him, into the deep alcove of the window.

"I want to attend meetings, but Father won't let me," he whispers, his voice barely audible, a breath in her ear.

She sets her pitcher on the window ledge so gently it makes no sound at all. "So you're eavesdropping on them instead?" she whispers back.

"This is the first time I've tried," he answers, grinning sheepishly at her. "If he thinks I'm going to be satisfied with just leaping into being King unprepared, he's mistaken."

"He is not encouraging you to participate in Council meetings?" she asks. Somehow she knows the answer already, though. _Uther is a tyrant. He doesn't want to give up the throne to anyone, not even his own heir._

"He says I'm not ready. But how can I become ready if I do not try?" he asks, looking rather lost.

This obviously upsets him, so it upsets her as well. Her hand finds his and squeezes it sympathetically.

"They're starting now," she says, leaning against the wall. He doesn't release her hand.

Unfortunately, Guinevere knows something that Arthur has yet to learn: Council meetings are dreadfully boring. She's served at enough of them to know. Hovering at the wall, refilling goblets.

_I'm supposed to be out there doing that right now, in fact,_ she thinks, frowning.

"Guinevere?" Arthur asks, noticing her expression. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm supposed to be serving at the meeting," she says, biting her lip.

"Oh. I'm sorry," he says.

They both know that if she appears now, stepping out from behind the curtain, it'll look much more suspicious than if she is mysteriously absent.

She nods, because what can she do?

"It'll be fine. Mary might be cross with me for a day or two, but I'll survive. Lady Morgana will not let her punish me," she says, half smiling.

"I would say you were assisting me with something, but that wouldn't be believable at all, unfortunately…"

"It's all right," she says. Really she doesn't know what's going to happen. All she knows is that Morgana will protect her.

They listen to the meeting for a while. At the moment, they're discussing the state of the well in the lower town. Apparently it needs repair, and Uther is reluctant to release funds for it.

Gwen sighs quietly. She lives in the lower town. She knows that well is dangerous. She shoos small children away from it regularly.

"How bad is it?" Arthur asks.

"Any child under the age of ten could easily fall into it," she says.

He frowns. _Why is Father not seeing that this is fixed?_ They listen as one of the lords – Sir Kay, Arthur realizes – convinces Uther that the repair is critical and necessary.

Finally, he relents with a heavily sighed, "Very well." There's a pause. "You there, guard, fetch a servant. Our goblets need filling, and we seem to be missing a serving girl," he barks.

Gwen bites her lip and looks down.

"I'm sorry," Arthur repeats, squeezing her hand.

The meeting continues. Borders. Taxes. Odin.

Arthur's attention is drifting. _Why did I think this was a good idea?_ He's still got Guinevere's hand, unwilling to release it lest she disappear. His thumb strokes the back of her hand once, his attention shifting focus. Twice.

A third time. She turns her head towards him to see him regarding her with a strange expression on his face. His eyes are soft, almost glowing, his pupils large against the blue of his irises.

She realizes he's no longer listening to the meeting at all.

Slowly, he leans in close, his voice still the barest whisper. "I think about you a lot, Guinevere." His lips brush her ear when he says this, raising a line of gooseflesh down her entire left side. She gasps softly and feels her blood heat in her veins. "Certainly more than I should, anyway," he adds, lowering his head and pressing his lips softly to her cheek as his hand releases hers and slides across her back, slipping his arm around her waist.

"Why would you… think of me, my lord?" she asks, just a breath, as his other hand finds her waist and pulls her into the circle of his embrace.

"Arthur," he reminds her, his lips soft and warm as they trail from her cheek to her neck, and she finds herself tilting her head to the side to allow him better access.

"Arthur," she breathes, her traitorous eyelids fluttering.

"Because you are never afraid to speak up to me when I behave poorly," he says, still whispering against her skin. "Because you are wise and brave," he adds, sliding his hand up her back to hold her better. "Because you are beautiful and sweet and your eyes – and your lips – haunt me late at night when I should be sleeping."

Gwen gasps softly again. _The prince thinks all these things of me?_ Then her thoughts are scattered as his lips finally find hers again, closing over them softly.

The last time they kissed was two years ago, and she hasn't been able to forget it. The memory of that afternoon keeps her awake at night, so much so that sometimes she is actually glad that Elyan has gone.

She was nearly a woman then, just as he was nearly a man. But now _this_ kiss is a kiss between a man and a woman, both fully aware of each other and the growing desire between them.

Desire and more. This registers deep within them as Arthur's tongue slips forward, asking for entrance into the warmth of her mouth.

Gwen parts her lips for him, her fingers curling into his shirt, grasping the soft white linen with her warm fingers. She _almost_ moans into him as she feels the rough wetness of his tongue slide deliciously along hers, coaxing it out to play.

_Quiet, Gwen. You mustn't be discovered. Oh, gods, this feels so nice… so forbidden… so… right…_

Her trembling hands tentatively slide up to his shoulders as she summons her bravery, surrenders to her desire, and meets his tongue with hers, kissing him back just as fervently now. His arms tighten around her in response. One of her hands slips into his hair as the other one clings to his neck.

He clutches her tightly to him, almost fearful, afraid she's going to disappear in a wisp of smoke. Her strong, slender fingers in his hair almost make him forget himself and groan. The realization that she returns his desire and possibly his feelings as well makes his head swim as he loses himself in her kiss, his hands sliding on her slender back. They want to explore, want to rove her body, feel her curves, familiarize themselves with the softer, rounder parts of her form, but ever mindful, he keeps their progress contained to her back, above her waist.

His hips, however, are proving disobedient, pressing against her until he knows she quite likely can feel the hardness of him through her skirts.

His lips leave hers, his lungs needing air. He craves the taste of her neck again, and he feathers kisses down, over her jaw to her neck, kissing his way to her collarbone and back up, the rise of her breasts above her bodice a tempting but forbidden territory.

"Did you hear something?" one of the Council members interjects. Arthur and Guinevere freeze, holding their breaths; holding one another. There is silence for several long seconds.

"Lord Ackerly, clearly you're imagining things," another voice chastises. There is some chuckling and the meeting resumes.

"I think I might have gasped," Gwen whispers quietly, in Arthur's ear. It's easy because he's still so close. He hasn't let her out of his grasp yet.

"Sorry," he apologizes, knowing that she wouldn't have been gasping if he hadn't been sucking on her neck. He gives her one more soft kiss on the lips.

She smiles and leans into him, resting her head on his chest, leaning against him as he leans against the wall, his arms around her, just holding her close.

Gwen sighs softly, enjoying this forbidden moment, because she doesn't know when she'll get another. _If_ she'll get another.

xXx

"Well, what happened to you, then?" Mary blusters at Guinevere later, when it was discovered that there was no one serving the Council at their meeting.

"I was…"

"She was with me, sorry," Merlin pipes up suddenly. He'd just arrived in the kitchens in time to hear Mary's yelling. "I needed help with some of the prince's linens, and you know no one makes a bed like Gwen."

"Oh. Well. Next time, find someone to cover for you, then," Mary says, still kind of side-eyeing both of them.

"I really didn't give her time," Merlin says. Gwen is shocked at his ability to spin a tale. She keeps her mouth closed, though. "Sorry. I'll be more mindful next time."

"You're lucky you work for the prince, Merlin," Mary says, helpless. Merlin is basically untouchable by anyone other than Arthur or Gaius, a fact that drives the senior servants completely crazy.

Mary stomps off, and Gwen turns to Merlin. "You didn't have to do that," she says.

"I know. But Arthur would have my head if he knew that I could have helped you and didn't," he says casually.

A little _too_ casually.

"Merlin?"

"Oh, don't worry, I won't tell a soul," he says. "If there's one thing I can do, it's keep a secret."

Something about the way he says it makes her believe him. "He asked me to give you this," he says, producing a small bunch of purple flowers from his sleeve. "He said something like, 'it's not the right time of year for lilacs, but at least they're purple.' I hope you know what that means, because I don't."

She takes the flowers, smiling. _He remembered._ "Thank you, Merlin. Tell Prince Arthur thank you also."

"Of course." He turns to leave. "Oh, and Gwen? Next time you decide to mess up his hair, please fix it before he goes out in public."

Merlin chuckles, leaving a gaping Guinevere standing in the kitchen with her flowers clutched in her hand.

The next day, Prince Arthur notices a few purple flowers woven into Guinevere's hair as she attends their breakfast. Familiar-looking purple flowers.

"More water, my lord?"

"Yes, please," he says, sliding his goblet over.

Her hand brushes his as she lifts the goblet to fill it.

They both know it was no accident.


	5. Chapter 5

19/18

Another two years. Arthur has been Prince Arthur, Crowned Prince of Camelot for a year now, officially dubbed thusly on his 18th birthday.

He's also a full knight and has proven to be a natural leader. Sir Kay will be (happily) stepping down as First Knight of Camelot soon, handing over the reins to Prince Arthur, as is his right.

Guinevere's brother Elyan is gone for good, it seems, having popped in briefly a year ago only to announce he's returned for the rest of his things.

She spends more time in the palace tending her mistress, who now seems to be plagued by nightmares and bouts of insomnia.

Gwen's friendship with the prince's manservant, Merlin, has strengthened to the point where they regard one another as family (and Arthur is no longer jealous of Merlin). She happily assists Merlin with his duties, as he is often stretched thin between serving the prince and assisting Gaius, the court physician.

As a result, Gwen and Arthur cross paths more frequently.

Yet it is not frequently enough.

When she brings clean linens to Arthur's room, he always tries to get her to stay, sometimes inventing ridiculous and transparent excuses to detain her. When she is able, she does. And when she does, he steals a kiss or two. Or three. She lets him think he's stealing these kisses, but in truth, she's giving them freely, collecting these little moments in her memory, storing them up as treasures for Someday.

Because Someday is the day when Prince Arthur will meet his Princess Fair and marry her.

But until Someday, Guinevere will occasionally allow herself the fantasy that she will be his Princess Fair. That Prince Arthur loves her.

For she loves him. It hurts and it aches and she knows it's foolishness, but each time he kisses her, she loves him more. Each time he smiles at her, she loves him more. Each time he stands up to his father for what he believes is right, she loves him more.

What Guinevere doesn't know is that Prince Arthur _does_ love her. He loves her for her inherent goodness, her bravery, and her wisdom. She is his sunlight, and he would wither and die without his daily dose of her.

At least it feels that way.

He, too, fears Someday. For him, Someday is the day when he will be forced into a marriage with a woman he does not love for "the good of the kingdom."

The only Princess Fair in whom he is interested wears a simple lavender dress with an apron as she scuttles around the palace, looking after everyone. Her coronet is made of wildflowers.

Prince Arthur is leaving for a quest early in the morning. There is only one person he wishes to see before he goes, so he hides himself away in a secluded alcove near Morgana's door. Waiting. Hoping Morgana is not having a difficult night. He knows occasionally Gwen will stay the night in her mistress' quarters, and he's really praying that tonight is not one of those nights.

He knows he should be resting. Or packing. Or consulting his maps. But those are all secondary in his mind right now.

There's a click and a gentle squeak as the door opens. He hears soft footfalls that can only be hers, and he creeps to the edge of his hiding place.

"Guinevere," he whispers as she nears. "Guinevere."

She stops, gasping lightly. Arthur peeks and waves a hand, beckoning her over.

She hesitates, then goes to him. He gently pulls her into his alcove. It's actually a small, rarely-used passageway leading to another part of the castle. Arthur and Merlin had discovered it the week before, and Arthur made a mental note of it.

"Arthur, what are you doing here?" she asks softly. "I thought you would be preparing for your quest."

"Waiting for you," he says, removing the basket from her hands and setting it aside. "I wanted to see you before I go."

"I was… I was going to try to find you in the morning," she admits quietly.

"I'm leaving before dawn," he says, gently pulling her into the circle of his arms. "And I cannot leave without a goodbye kiss from my lady fair." He leans his head down towards hers.

"I'm not—"

"To me, you are," he interrupts her before she can protest – again – that she isn't a Lady.

His lips close over hers, softly at first, his hands sliding on her back, pulling her closer as her arms come up to twine around his neck, one hand in his hair.

"Oh," she gasps lightly as their lips separate for a bare moment before reconnecting, his tongue seeking hers out as she clings to him.

They've only kissed like this a few times since that day at the Council meeting. They've both wanted to, but uncooperative circumstances and fear of discovery make it difficult for them to feel free enough to indulge their desires.

Guinevere feels her feet moving, and she realizes Arthur is moving them, guiding her a little deeper into the corridor.

"Arthur, what—oh!" she exclaims softly as he lifts her off the ground and sets her on a ledge, raising her face to be more level with his.

"Wouldn't want you to strain your neck now," he murmurs, trailing his index finger lightly down her nose.

He leans forward again, his hands resting lightly on her hips.

"Arthur," she speaks, halting his progress towards her lips.

"Guinevere," he answers, curious about what words she has for him now.

"Please be careful," she says, resting her palms on his chest, fingers idly toying with the ends of the ties dangling from the vee of his tunic.

"I will," he says softly, leaning forward to give her a small kiss. "Because I know you'll be here, waiting for me." He pauses for a beat, insecurity seizing him. "Won't you?"

She smiles, but it is a sad smile. "Yes, I will." She nods. "Even though…"

"Shh," he silences her disclaimer with his lips, moving forward slightly until he is standing between her knees, her skirts wrapping around his legs a little.

"But…" she attempts in between kisses. _He seems different tonight. He's usually affectionate when we're alone, but…_

Her thoughts are scattered when he moves his lips to her neck, leaning her back slightly, his hand supporting her back. She tilts her head out of his way, sighing.

"Guinevere," he says softly, his lips brushing the skin of her neck. "The reason I wanted to see you tonight, why it was so important is…"

"Yes?" she asks, and he lifts his head, looking into her eyes for a moment.

"I cannot leave on this quest without… telling you… I…" he takes a deep breath and leans forward to kiss her again, as if he is drawing his courage from her. "I love you, Guinevere. I love you and because I love you, I need to make you a promise."

She gasps, overwhelmed. _He loves me? He really does? But… he can't…_

"I know what you're thinking," he says, smirking, "which is why I promise you that when I am king, things will be different. I don't think I'll be able to convince my father of your worth, both to me and to the kingdom, but… under my rule, we can be together. The commoner will have value. I promise this."

"Oh, Arthur," she sighs. She wants to return the sentiment, wants to tell him she loves him, but the words get stuck. She's pushed them down so often they've forgotten how much they want their freedom.

She also knows King Uther's rule could last for 30 more years. But it could also last for 30 more months. The future is uncertain, and that's what frightens her.

"Will you wait for me, Guinevere?" he asks, whispering the question, afraid of the answer.

"Yes, Arthur," she answers, caught up in the moment, in his idealism, in his unwavering belief that they can be together one day. She pushes aside thoughts of Someday and a Princess Fair deemed "appropriate" by King Uther, the impossibility, and her own doubts.

Because for some reason, he makes her believe that it _is_ possible.

"Yes, I'll wait," she repeats. "That is my promise to you in return." She leans forward and kisses him. "I love you, Arthur," she whispers against his lips, barely audible.

She feels his grin against her lips before he presses his lips fully to hers, moving his body closer still until his hips are nestled between her thighs.

He kisses her passionately, deeply, and she returns his kiss with an abandon she's never allowed herself, her fingers tangling in his soft blonde hair, her other hand gripping his shoulder.

Arthur's palms slide on her back, under her hair, the soft tendrils brushing his knuckles as he attempts to bring her closer still. Her body is pressed more tightly against his than she ever has been, but she's still not close enough.

Too many layers between them.

But Arthur won't compromise her virtue, no matter how much he wants her. He loves her too much to do that to her.

He thinks about stopping, but then feels her foot wind around his leg and the thought vanishes.

"Guinevere," he gasps, kissing her neck again.

"Oh," she breathes, leaning her head back, giving him more access and arching against him. Her mind is devoid of thought; she is only aware of his lips, his tongue, his hands, his arms, his hips.

Arthur drinks in her warmth, her scent, the softness of her skin as he continues to place soft, wet kisses on her neck, working his way down to her collarbone. Unthinkingly, he kisses lower, to the collar of her dress and the softness of the swell of her breast above the bodice of her dress.

He feels soft, warm flesh under his lips and it startles his eyes open. "Oh," he mutters, flustered, moving higher again.

"It's all right," she whispers.

"I shouldn't," he says, kissing her cheek, then her lips. "I don't want to get carried away. I think I already have…"

She softly chuckles and unwinds her leg from around his. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down until his head is resting on her shoulder.

"Don't go off and get injured or die or anything, please," she whispers, kissing his hair.

"I won't," he says. "I'll be back before you know it." He lifts his head and looks at her, gazing down into her soft brown eyes.

"Promise?" she whispers, knowing it is an unfair question.

Arthur nods. "I promise." He kisses her once, softly, and says, "If you weren't here, I'd have no reason to return at all."

She smiles even though she knows his statement is an exaggeration at best. "You would return for Camelot," she says, resting her head on his chest.

"Ah, but without you here, Camelot means nothing to me." He lifts her chin so he can see her face again. She stares up in amazement, her lips parted slightly, as a faint blush kisses her cheeks at his heartfelt words. "Camelot is my duty, but I love _you_, Guinevere. Your love gives me courage to fight for Camelot, for you, for _us_. And there is no better motivation to return home safely than that." He leans down and kisses her forehead.

"I love you, Arthur." She squeezes him in a tight hug, knowing that it's very late and she needs to get home. "You will be a great king," she whispers, nearly inaudible, but he hears it. Her words and belief in him bolster him further.

He kisses her lips once more, softly. "I'll see you home safely," he says.

"I'll be fine," she answers. "And I have to take this to the laundry first."

"It's very late, and it's dark. I'll walk with you," he insists, lifting her basket.

She takes it from him, knowing he'd carry it for her but also knowing she cannot allow it.

"Besides, I'll get to see you longer if I walk you home," he points out. Guinevere smiles and blushes prettily as he walks beside her, heading to the laundry with Morgana's washing.

xXx

When Guinevere opens her door to walk to the palace the next morning, she finds a sheet of folded parchment tucked in between the door and the frame with a purple flower stuck inside.

_Guinevere,_

_I carry a favor my lady fair granted me two years ago to keep me safe. I will come to you upon my return. Be well, my love, and think of me as I will be thinking of you often. I love you and remain always_

_Forever yours. -A._


	6. Chapter 6

25/24

King Uther's rule lasted for neither 30 more years nor 30 more months. It ended five years after Prince Arthur made a promise to a handmaiden called Guinevere. It ended tragically, in a pool of blood on the floor of the King's chambers, on Prince Arthur's 24th birthday.

Six months into King Arthur Pendragon's reign, after enough time had passed for the young king to establish himself as a fair and just ruler, to establish that he is _not_ his father, he did something unprecedented.

King Arthur married for love. His Princess Fair was a commoner, the daughter of a blacksmith. He wed her proudly, for the whole kingdom to see. Seven days hence, he crowned her Queen of Camelot.

And his people loved him for it.

The kingdom has never been more prosperous. Nobles and commoners alike are happy and thriving.

Six more months have passed and it is now King Arthur's 25th birthday, a happy occasion for everyone in the kingdom.

Everyone except the King. Guinevere and Merlin, the two people closest to him, also feel Arthur's sadness.

For his birthday has never been the happiest day, in Arthur's mind. His mother died on the day of his birth. Now his father's death also shares this date.

He puts on a brave face for the people, accepts their humble tokens graciously. Occasionally, he receives looks of sympathy from subjects who are aware of the mixed emotions his or her king must be feeling.

Gwen and Merlin try their hardest to keep smiling, keep _Arthur_ smiling, knowing the pain he is burying. Particularly this year, the first anniversary of King Uther's death.

The dinner banquet is a lavish affair, and spirits are high. Arthur manages to forget his grief and relax a bit. He even laughs a few times, usually at Gwaine or Merlin. Or both of them together.

Guinevere hides a yawn behind her hand, but Arthur sees it. "If you are tired, my love…" he says softly in her ear.

"I am," she admits. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I am enjoying the feast, but I think I should retire."

He tries not to look _too_ disappointed. "I'll be up soon," he says, kissing her cheek.

"Stay as long as you like," she says, placing her hand over his.

He smirks, silently conveying exactly how much longer he would _like_ to stay at the banquet. "I'll be up soon," he repeats. "No one will think ill of my retiring early on this night."

"True," she allows.

"Besides, it's _my_ birthday and I _am_ the king," he adds, smiling a real smile now.

"Yes, you are, my lord," she says softly in his ear. She begins to stand and Arthur stands with her. The knights that are seated around the table stand as well out of respect for their queen.

"I bid you good night," she says with a gentle nod. "Do take care that you do not pour too much ale down my husband's throat in my absence," she adds, smiling.

"She's talking to _you_, Gwaine," Percival mutters, purposely _just_ loud enough.

Guinevere laughs with the knights and exits the hall, followed by a maid. She gives Merlin a brief and meaningful nod before she leaves the room. He holds up all ten fingers, his back to Arthur.

_Ten minutes._ Gwen nods again and makes her way up to the royal chambers.

xXx

"Did I not say I would be up soon, Guinevere?" Arthur calls as he enters their chambers. He turns to close the door and sees that Merlin is no longer with him. "Merlin?" He peers into the corridor, then shrugs. "No matter," he sighs, finding no sign of his servant. He closes the doors. "Guinevere?"

He walks further into their chambers, towards the sleeping quarters. "Guinevere, are you awake?" he calls, softer now, just in case she has fallen asleep already.

But the bed is empty. It's been turned down for the night, but it is empty and appears untouched.

He starts moving slowly into the chamber, his eyes scanning for signs of trouble when he sees it: a broom, leaning against the side of the bed.

_Certainly not._ Following his hunch, he quickly pulls his feet from his boots and removes his socks and his leather vest. Then he takes off his belt and sets it on the table.

Arthur makes his way around to the far side of the bed, picks up the broom, and starts sweeping. Grinning now, he thrusts the broom under the bed.

"Hey!" Guinevere's attempt at indignation fails as her outburst is followed by a fit of giggles.

Arthur sets the broom aside and kneels down on the floor. He sees Guinevere lying there under the bed in her nightdress, biting back her grin. _What was it she said?_ "Forgive me, my lady, I was just—"

"Shh," she shushes him. Another giggle escapes.

"My lady?" he whispers, making no attempt to hide his amusement.

"I'm hiding," she says.

"Why are you hiding?" he asks. "And I won't fit under there now, just so you know."

She looks at him. "I'm hiding to be a little silly," she answers softly. "I want my dear, sweet husband to have at least one happy memory on his birthday." She reaches her hand out and touches his cheek. He kisses her palm.

"I can think of a way to make it two happy memories," he rumbles, reaching under the bed with one arm and pulling her out by her waist.

"Mmm, I'll wager you can, Husband," she says, rolling into his arms.

He kisses her softly. "But the floor is hard. We should move to the bed so you do not catch a chill." Then he notices she had a blanket and pillow beneath her under the bed. _Smarter than I was. Of course, I was 11, so…_

They move to the bed, Arthur leaning over her, his hands sliding on the silk of her gown, feeling her now-familiar curves, the feminine softness of her that he loves.

"Happy birthday, my love," she whispers just before his lips close over hers, softly at first, then deeper, his tongue searching for hers. Her hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, her palms flat on his stomach, then his chest.

Arthur leans back and tugs his shirt off, throwing it behind him. It hits the broom, which clatters to the floor, bringing forth another giggle from Guinevere. This time Arthur laughs, too.

He pulls his trousers off as well, then returns to her, his hands at her ankles, slowly sliding the hem of her nightdress up, exposing her slender, shapely legs. He occasionally dips his head and kisses the skin as he exposes it. Her shin. Her knee. Her thigh. Her thigh again.

Guinevere lifts her hips and helps him remove her nightdress, which he lays gently on a chair at their bedside.

_Will I ever tire of the sight of her?_ he wonders, but knows the answer. He kisses her shoulder as he returns to her, kissing across her collarbone to her neck, easily accessible with her hair braided and out of the way. He loves her dark curls, but also loves having unfettered access to the soft, sensitive skin of her neck. He hums contentedly as his lips skim her neck, his hand sliding up to cover her breast.

"Arthur," she sighs his name, her fingers in his hair, nails scratching his scalp lightly.

"Mmm." He makes a path of kisses to her waiting breasts, drawing an erect nipple into his mouth, sucking, sliding his tongue around the hardened nub, even biting lightly.

"Ah," she gasps, her back arching slightly. Her hand moves down, searching him out just as his hand moves between her thighs, slipping his fingers into her moist folds when her hand closes around his length.

Arthur groans as she strokes him. He kisses his way to her other breast, his fingers stroking her in return, making her writhe beneath him.

Guinevere pushes his shoulder, moving him onto his back, surprising him. She kisses him deeply and lovingly, then begins moving down his body, kissing his chest, moving down his stomach, lower…

"Guinevere, what…? Oh…" Arthur's shock at the sensation of her mouth sliding over his manhood is quickly replaced by complete bliss as she sucks him in again and again. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice is wondering where his sweet wife learned of such a thing, but most of his mind is too busy enjoying itself to care.

She slides her tongue around him, licking the length of him, boldly grasping him beneath, then plunges his length into her mouth again.

"Oh… Love… stop, or I'll…" Arthur gasps, his voice hoarse.

Guinevere heeds his words and gently releases him, climbing back up over him, straddling his stomach. "Did that please you, my lord?" she whispers, kissing him.

"Mmm-hmm," he answers. "But I want to release inside you. I want to share that moment with you."

In the six months of their marriage, Guinevere has learned that she is fortunate indeed to have a husband who cares about her pleasure in the marriage bed. For all his arrogance, Arthur is a remarkably generous lover. She was also pleased (though not entirely surprised) to learn that Arthur waited for her; she was his first just as he was hers.

She smiles down at him, then kisses him again, timidly starting to take control. It's his birthday; she wants this to be special for him. She reaches down between them, taking his length in her hand again as she moves lower, slowly sheathing him within her.

"Guinevere…" he groans, drawing her name out, his hands gripping her hips.

She sinks down completely over him with a contented sigh, still straddling him, and doesn't move for a few moments. She takes his hands in hers and guides them from her hips to her breasts. He squeezes softly when she starts to move, caressing them, running his thumbs across her stiff nipples.

Guinevere rides him, swift and graceful, her soft brown eyes gazing down at him lovingly for a few long moments. Then she moans and drops her head back, pressing her breasts into his hands. She braces her hands behind her on his thighs, her short, neat nails biting into his skin.

"Oh, Guinevere," Arthur groans her name again, reaching for her, pulling her down over him. "Come here," he whispers roughly.

She shifts, leaning forward now, only losing her rhythm for a moment, and meets his lips with her own. He starts lifting his hips to meet hers now, no longer encumbered by her pressing on his thighs.

"You were too far away," he mutters against her lips before moving to place a series of wet, nibbling kisses on her neck.

"Mmm," she moans, possibly agreeing, possibly just moaning.

Either way, Arthur loves it. He loves when she loses track of propriety and just lets go. "Mmm," he parrots, lifting his head to capture a breast in his mouth.

"Ah," she sighs, her hand coming around to support his head. "Oh…"

He releases her breast just long enough to say, "Come on, you can do better than that," and grin devilishly up at her.

Her laughter is short-lived, quickly turning into another moan as Arthur moves to her other breast and pushes more forcefully with his hips, encouraging her to move faster, harder.

"Oh… Arthur… oh no… oh… oh _yes_…" Words and moans and gasps are falling freely from Guinevere's mouth now. Arthur's head drops back to the pillow, too close to his own climax to be able to keep his head up.

"Oh, _yes,_ Guinevere…" he groans, pressing his head into the pillow, his hands sliding around her back, moving down to cup her backside.

A moment later they explode, first Guinevere crying out wordlessly, her fingers digging into his chest, then Arthur, with a massive growl, thrusting deep and stilling, his arms wrapping around her small body, hugging her close.

"Mmm, I love you, my queen," he murmurs, tucking his face into her neck.

"I love you, too, my husband," she whispers in response, smiling, kissing his earlobe.

They lie together for several minutes, Gwen still on top of Arthur. "I enjoyed that. I should let you take control more often," he sighs contentedly. "This will indeed be a happy birthday memory," he says at length, trailing his fingers up and down her back.

"Good," she says softly, lifting her head to kiss him. She gently slides off of him and moves beside him, tucking herself against his side. "Think you can handle one more?"

"What? Um, sure, just… I need a few minutes first, love," he says, surprised at her audacity.

"What?" she asks. "Oh! No…" she laughs, realization hitting her. "I meant one more happy birthday memory."

"Oh, _that_," he says. He's not sure if he's relieved or disappointed.

"I have a special present for you, my lord," Guinevere says softly. Almost shyly.

"You do? Another one?" he asks, leaning up on his elbow now, curious. She had presented him with a jeweled clasp for his dress cape, one she had made especially for him based on her own design.

She nods, smiling a sly smile.

He glances around the room for a minute, then turns his eyes back to her. Waiting patiently for about five more seconds. "Where is it?" he finally asks.

She takes his hand and moves it to her stomach, just below her navel. "In here. You have to wait a few months before you can see it, though."

Arthur's eyes widen. His mouth opens and closes a few times. His fingers dig into her stomach just slightly, and then, realizing, he relaxes them again.

"Truly?" he finally manages, his voice breaking.

"Yes. I've seen Gaius and the midwife. It has been just over two months." She bites her lip, waiting.

"_Truly?_" he repeats, too shocked to form a sentence.

Guinevere almost laughs he is so adorably stunned.

She sits up and kisses him. "_Yes._ You're going to be a father, my love."

He snaps out of his stupor and throws his arms around her, hugging her tightly, laughing and crying at once. "I can't believe it… it's too wonderful…"

"So, a good birthday memory?" Guinevere asks, crying now as well.

"The best, my love. The best ever."


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

Six months later, on a bright fall morning, the entire kingdom breathed a sigh of relief when Queen Guinevere of Camelot safely delivered a healthy baby boy.

_And_ a healthy baby girl.

Rumors circulated throughout the five kingdoms that both infants look exactly like the King, except for their darker skin tone and curled wisps of hair.

King Arthur had been beyond worried for his queen and was even haunted by dreams of her suffering the same fate as his mother. He was so relieved Guinevere survived childbirth he did not fully comprehend their double blessing.

Close at her side on their bed that afternoon, he ponders their little bundles, one in each of his wife's arms, as she sits propped up on pillows against the massive headboard.

Guinevere shifts slightly, a slight moan escaping her lips.

"Are you terribly sore, Guinevere?" Arthur asks softly. He cannot even begin to fathom what it is she went through this morning. And late last night, when her water broke as they were preparing for bed.

_Yes. She's much stronger than I'll ever be,_ he decides, looking again at the two – _two!_ – tiny people who have just joined them.

"Yes, I'm sore. But it was worth it. Twins. I can hardly believe it."

"Neither can I." Arthur turns and reaches for a vial on the nightstand. "Gaius left a remedy to aid in your recovery, if you'd like it," he says, offering her the draught.

"Hands are full," she says pointedly. Arthur smiles and lifts his daughter from Guinevere's arm, holding her gently, as though he was born to it.

"Thank you," Gwen answers, shifting her son up to rest against her chest. She reaches for the vial, peers at it a moment, and removes the stopper. She sniffs. "Oh, dear," she sighs, tipping it to her lips, drinking it slowly at first, then quickly finishing it.

"Ugh! That is truly awful!" she exclaims softly, making a pinched face. Arthur, trying not to laugh at his wife's face, takes the vial and returns it to the nightstand. He then moves closer to Guinevere's side, wrapping his free arm around her, pulling her gently against him. She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder.

"I love you, Guinevere."

"And I love you, Arthur."

"Thank you for giving me our beautiful children."

Guinevere smiles. "You're welcome, my lord." She sighs and continues, "Thank you for naming our son Thomas."

Arthur chuckles. "Thank you for naming our daughter Ygraine," he returns and kisses her softly, sweetly.

They take a moment to enjoy the quiet, knowing their children will want to be fed soon. Guinevere had insisted, with Arthur's full support, that she, not a wet nurse, would feed their babies and tend to them as much as her duties would allow. Arthur has determined said duties will be greatly reduced for the next several months.

"Guinevere," Arthur asks, kissing her temple, "did you have any idea you were carrying two babies?"

She shakes her head in wonderment. "No. I felt huge, very tired, and did I mention huge? It was especially difficult during this last month, but I thought it was because of my small stature."

Arthur, pondering this, tightens his arm around her shoulders. Little Ygraine scrunches and squeaks in her sleep, and a moment later, as if he sensed it, little Thomas does the same thing. Arthur smiles, the reality of this still not sinking in.

All he knows is whatever gods were looking out for his wife deserve some sort of amazingly decadent offering. He obviously knew of the dangers of delivering one baby, but two? He squeezes his eyes shut, banishing from his mind the previous months' gut-churning worries of looking forward to the birth of their child, but dreading it all the same.

Guinevere, reacting to the effects of double-childbirth and Gaius' draught, starts to doze off against Arthur's shoulder, but his deep voice pulls her away from sleep.

"I asked Gaius."

"Hmm? What?"

"I asked Gaius if he suspected anything out of the ordinary," Arthur whispers, trying to remind himself that all is well.

"What did he say?"

"He said each time he examined you, all the signs pointed to one baby."

Guinevere shakes her head. "None of us – Gaius, the midwife, me – knew or suspected."

"Incredible," he sighs. "Though the way Merlin was acting, you'd've thought he knew all along. He was downright smug, for some bizarre reason."

Guinevere chuckles. "He's just happy for us. You know he's going to love these children as much as we do."

"I know," he admits, lovingly kissing her forehead and inhaling her sweet scent, finally starting to relax. "Do you know what else Gaius said?"

"Hmmm?"

"He added, 'It appears, Sire, that one of the babies was hiding.'"

Guinevere quickly looks up into her husband's twinkling blue eyes, a slow smile spreading on her face. "Hiding?" She raises an amused eyebrow at him.

"Indeed," Arthur smiles and deeply kisses his Guinevere.

-End-

**A/N: Special thanks must go to my beta/story editor and dear, dear friend for most of the content of this little epilogue! I was going to leave it after the last chapter, but she presented me with this little bit of loveliness, and I knew I had to share it with the world. :)**


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